


Blinking

by wavesketcher



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavesketcher/pseuds/wavesketcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One month after the return from the Underworld. Stolen glances, hidden meanings, unexplained feelings that keep you awake. Nursing sips of coffee whilst staring, unblinking. Willing. Happy endings with frayed edges. Emma and Regina have always had a complicated relationship. But that's okay because they're just friends, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is different to my usual style of writing. I’ve been trying to experiment to develop as a writer (not to mention it’s super fun to play around with styles). This story has been very much inspired by Coalitiongirl’s masterpiece So Does This Make Us Both The Other Woman? I adore the tone of that story and wanted to try and recreate a little of that in this. Who knows how long I will keep this up? Feedback is always helpful – please take the time to do so (big hugs). I’m just trying to find that writers flow again (and what better way to do that than fashion another beautiful love story between my two favourite ladies).

Neither of them is sure how it happened- but it did- because somehow somewhere along the line they became friends. One month after the return from the underworld: the evil queen and the saviour seated at Granny’s, awkwardly attempting to make conversation (because that’s what friends do).

“So… how’s Hook?” She has stopped calling him the pirate for a while now. It seemed to both relax and unnerve Emma simultaneously.

“Hook’s fine.”

Regina sighs, watching the way Emma’s mouth twitches and the dull ache in her forehead that has creased her brow ever since she saved the brunette from becoming the dark one. It’s Emma, for sure. Blonde hair, green eyes but the glow has gone- the fire. Regina bites her lip and waits for Emma to breathe or smile or say _something_.

“How’s Robin?”

And Regina sighs. “I assume he’s doing okay. When I do see him he looks… less drained.”

Emma blinks and captures Regina in a stare that forces the brunette to look away. She swallows and nurses her coffee.

“And how are _you_ ,” Emma asks softly, lowering her voice and leaning in. Regina can taste Emma’s hot coco through the air between them. She inhales. No one has asked her how she is since the underworld. The return quite literally flipped her life over, the happiness she fought so hard to secure disappeared and she was alone once again. It wasn’t shocking. They were growing apart; soul mates just didn’t quite fit either of them. They tried. But there was no sparkle, no true happiness. He made her feel loved but not _in_ love. And it was a slow torture for both of them.

“I guess I’m relieved,” she smiles softly, and notices the way Emma’s eyes inflate slightly when she does. “And I guess I’m back to square one.”

The blonde touches Regina’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently. Regina stills, hearing the pulse of her finger tips under Emma’s touch, _becoming_ the pulse. They are both looking down at it, too stupefied to move.

Emma speaks first, “You don’t need to search for your happy ending, Regina. It’s right here. Everything you love and cherish is in this town- don’t forget that.”

And it makes her angry. She snatches her hand away and it stings from the absence. She’s glaring at Emma, working her jaw feeling so much yet unable to fabricate the correct emotion. Instead she slides in to her safety net- anger.

“Well it’s alright for the Saviour, isn’t it?” Regina sneers, “You’ve got a happy ending, your stupid pirate, a family, a son.”

Emma hardens and a green flame begins to burn through her retina. Regina watches it flicker, the life returning to a glassy orb. “Don’t talk about him like that,” Emma snaps.

And Regina wants more fire, a bigger flame. “I can talk about him how I like. What I said in hell was true; you’re too good for him.”

Emma laughs. Icily. It’s liberating to hear and Regina’s breathing quickens. “And what makes me better than him?”

“Everything.”

Her reply is instinctive and Emma’s eyes widen and Regina’s said too much and Emma looks confused and she can’t, she _can’t_.

“What do you mean _everything_?” Emma’s genuinely asking. She genuinely cannot see what she is, the entirety that is Emma Swan. She honestly thinks that some egocentric, one-handed _pirate_ is worthy of her. And Regina is being selfish. Emma’s not ready for the truth.

“You’ve _changed_ , Emma! You used to be so full of life and hope. You were so determined, determined to beat me and any other evil that threatened your family. Look at you now,” she lowers her voice, her words like knives and she means every single cut, “You’re empty. You’re everything that you never wanted to be. “

Emma is silent, unblinking, so Regina continues.

“You’re hopeless, you’re weak. You follow some man in to hell and bring your whole family to save him. You think you’re in love with a man that never even bothered to get to know you before deeming you as suitable. He pursued you and you gave in because it was easy. Because that love was _easy_.”

“Says the woman that trusted pixie dust!” Emma finds her voice, seething. Her eyes are explosive. It’s like watching a firework display, ripping across the serenity; a powerful imminence shadowing the two women for quite some time.

“And where did that get me!? Alone. I accepted that Robin wasn’t _it_ for me. I had settled, you’re settling.”

The blonde stands up, slamming her mug down and grabbing her jacket; “You’re ridiculous,” she growls and storms out of the diner.

* * *

Regina and Henry play chess for hours on end. She always wins. They chew on their dinner whilst watching TV (something Regina _never_ does), before shuffling upstairs in to separate bedrooms to read. 10 minutes in to the latest Anne Tyler and the brunette sighs. Emma has been playing at the back of her mind all evening. Regina had lashed out, wanting to dent the bubble the blonde has fashioned: her perfect, _perfect_ bubble. Truthfully, she misses the excitement that Emma used to bring to her life. The ‘Miss Swan’s’ and ‘No he’s not he’s mine’, the ‘our magic’ and the ‘my job’s not done unless I do that for everyone, including you’.

Okay, Emma. You win.

“Henry, I’m going out for a little bit. Call me if you need anything.”

And she gets in her car and drives to the Charming’s. It’s dark as she crosses the road and walks up the stairs to the loft. There’s a low hum of a radio that follows her along the corridor and Regina finds herself smiling once she recognises the song. It’s Emma’s favourite ‘I hate my life, I feel sorry for myself song’ and the brunette remembers listening to it day in day out at the Sheriff station.

She sighs and knocks thrice on the door, expecting Snow or Charming but instead getting a very dishevelled looking Emma.

“Regina what are you-“

“Hi.”

There’s a smirk twisting on Regina’s lips as she says it and Emma catches it, rolling her eyes with a light chuckle. And there’s a lot of _Emma_ in it as she does.

“You’re missing the red jacket,” the blonde says simply.

Regina ignores the warm feeling spreading through her chest at this, “Quite right, it’s repulsive.”

Emma laughs out loud and it’s beautiful. A sound that feels so alien yet familiar and Regina is laughing too, drowning in Emma’s sound because she’d forgotten how alive she felt when she heard it.

“No seriously, what _are_ you doing here?”

“I’ve come to apologise.”

Emma raises her eyebrows, “ _Really_?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” she lowers her voice and finds green, “I really am. Saying those things to you… I was out of line. I guess I just miss…”

The blonde smirks, “Miss what, Regina?”

“Don’t make me say it, Swan.”

Emma’s laughing with her eyes, willing Regina to open up. “Go on.”

“I miss…”

And there’s a moment where they both just _stop_ and suddenly they’re nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Emma and Regina.

“You. I miss _you_.”

Emma gasps and opens her mouth: a million words yet none at all to break the silence.

“I miss you too, love.”

Hook slides his arm around Emma’s waist but Regina’s not watching him, she’s watching the other woman’s eyes… the sparkle dissipating, the emptiness consuming once again. Emma sighs and slides out of his grip, “Killian, I’m busy. I’m sorry, I won’t be long.”

The man laughs and wiggles his eyebrows (and it’s so unattractive that Regina wants to gag), wrapping locks of blonde hair around his fingers. And Regina finds herself wondering what that would feel like- Emma’s hair. She blinks, straightens and smiles sharply at the couple. “No, it’s quite alright. I’ll be off.”

“Oh no, wait Regina-“

But the brunette just turns and nods at the woman, hurting as she turns down the stairs wondering why.

* * *

9:33 am. Regina has been sorting for the last hour (at least), the low hum of Beethoven guiding her hands over the papers. She sings softly to herself as she does, revelling in the calm and the _freedom_. Robin would usually leave flowers on her desk at this time, something quaint like a red rose which just reminded Regina of a time trapped in a marriage that was nothing like a fairy tale.

“Madame Mayor?”

She looks up sharply to see none other than Emma, fully kitted out in red leather jacket, boots and the golden glint of the Sheriff’s badge. And she’s grinning internally as she says her next words, “I don’t remember ever agreeing to you taking back your job?”

Emma shrugs, “If it makes up for it… I bought you lunch.” She smiles shyly as she places the salad on Regina’s papers, drawing a chair up to the Mayoral desk.

“You were right, you know. I haven’t felt like me in a long time. There’s never been a chance to _stop_ ,” she bites in to grilled cheese, lettuce leaves escaping her lips as she does and Regina shakes her head when she realises she has been watching.

“Agreed.”

Emma pulls out a napkin to wipe her mouth (and misses a bit on a chin, not that Regina is taking notice). She pulls forward, running a hand through blonde locks as if to shake _something_ out of it. “I also respect what you said about Killi- Hook. It’s pretty clear you’re not going to get along and that’s okay.”

The Mayor blinks. Her salad is still untouched.

“Regina?”

“Sorry, yes. Thank you.”

Emma nods and takes another mouthful, her phone buzzing as she does and she stops mid second bite to unlock the screen. A small smile draws itself across her face.

“Who’s that from?” Regina finds herself blurting out. She cringes but Emma doesn’t seem to notice.

“Just Hook being his usual irritating self,” the blonde laughs, barely noticing that Regina doesn’t join in. She doesn’t feel like laughing so instead dips in to her salad wondering why on earth she has the urge to send a text to make the other woman smile.

“So… it’s Henry’s birthday coming up.” Emma breaks the silence easily.

“Fourteen,” Regina sighs (grateful for something to take her mind off Emma and well _Emma_ ).

“We should do something. Like a party. We could plan it and surprise him?”

Regina raises a perfectly sculpted brow at the blonde. “And what exactly would our _teenage_ son want in a surprise party?”

“I don’t know maybe… paintballing?”

The brunette rolls her eyes, “Emma, do remember that this isn’t _your_ party but Henry’s.” She begins to sift through papers once again, pretending not to notice the (adorable) pout beginning to school Emma’s features.

“Paintballing is fun,” she grumbles and Regina has to physically place paper in front of her face to conceal the grin.

Because _this_ \- this is Emma.

“I suppose we could magic something up. Henry hasn’t exactly had the easiest of lives; whatever we do should be fun.”

“Fun?” Emma mock gasps, “Did I really just hear the word _fun_ from the Mayor?”

And it’s so beautifully domesticated; as if the last five years haven’t happened yet _have_ completely.

 And then Emma receives another text and this time she laughs out loud. “Sorry Regina, party planning will have to wait- Hook is arm wrestling Henry and needs my help.”

She lifts her phone up to the brunette’s nose, a blurry picture of her son laughing illuminating the screen. If it hurts, she refuses to show it. Years of royalty taught her that and years of tyranny gave her the strength to do so. Emma gives her strength too- and Henry- but right now she needs the mask.

“Of course, go. Thanks for the lunch.”

The blonde lights up, quite literally, and Regina freezes the feeling that whispers within her stomach. _No_.

“Thank _you_. Talk to you later, Regina.”

And she disappears entirely unaware of the emptiness Regina feels when she does.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mom, can Emma come over for dinner tonight?”

“Emma? Why?”

“I miss her,” he admits from the doorway, gently tapping a rhythm on the kitchen door frame as he sways to whatever song drifts from the radio.

Regina turns from the oven and nods, “Of course, Henry. And Hook?”

Her son wrinkles his nose, “If you want. I don’t mind.”

Desperately trying to ignore the warmth she feels at his answer, the brunette encases her son in a hug. “I love you, Henry. Please don’t forget that.”

“Mooooooom. Okay, I love you too just please- let go, I need to text Emma.”

* * *

 

She doesn’t dwell on why she spends so long in front of the mirror. Suddenly her fitted pant suit and heels don’t quite work how they used to. Regina sighs as she gauges her reflection, critical eyes finding flaws in everything. She feels different now- she has nothing to prove anymore. She’s been just _Regina_ for so long… maybe it’s time she adapted.

She finds a knitted cream jumper in her wardrobe buried under months of regret. It fits well and slips off her shoulder when she bends down to take off her heels. She smiles. And exhales. There’s something so freeing about it all and she slips on jeans (yes, jeans) and almost laughs at her reflection. A petite raven haired woman smiles back at her, relaxed, happy. Light make up dusts her eyes (a vague pink that catches sunlight and sparkles in response), nude lips.

“Er Mom?” Henry gawps as Regina steps in to the dining room laden with plates.

“Yes, Henry?”

“You look really different. Like _really_ different.”

She frowns suddenly, years of dressing to please people, to impress, swimming in her mind. “Is it bad?”

Her son shakes his head vehemently, “No! You look like… a mom.” There’s a hesitance as he says so, wide eyes willing his mother to understand. Regina smiles, no marvels, at the crinkles in his skin- Emma yet so much of _her_ too in the crevices of his expression.

She busies herself away in the kitchen. Counting and recounting the ingredients; a quiet determination to make the most perfect lasagne (because that’s what friends do). Emma can’t be heard until she knocks on the doorframe, quite the shadow of her son. Regina pivots and swallows hard because Emma never fails to stall her pulse.

“Wow… you look…”

“Contrary to popular belief, Emma, I do own casual wear,” she rolls her eyes but inside she’s smiling. No, _fluttering_.

Emma nods watching with interest at either the cooking or the curve of the brunette’s figure (Regina most definitely _not_ hoping the latter). The blonde shuffles over to the counter and lifts herself a top of it, legs swinging and it would be irritating if she didn’t look completely adorable doing so.

“What ya making?” Emma quizzes, leaning over the brunette’s shoulder. Her breath catches on to Regina’s ear and she shivers almost instinctively.

“Lasagne,” she answers nonchalantly, awaiting eagerly the blonde’s response.

“Ah _really_!?”

And she doesn’t disappoint. It’s sickening how perfect it is, how she can throw on a knitted jumper and suddenly she’s a mother inviting her son’s other mother over for dinner. They cook together in content silence, an occasional hum from Emma over the extractor fan, a distant murmuring from Regina as she checks the recipe. It’s a song that isn’t meant to work but somehow just _does_. It’s messy and disjointed and Regina would willingly listen to it every day if she could.

When she cooked for Robin there was a quiet tension. It wasn’t intentional: he did everything right and yet nothing at all. But she knew this was her duty. Soulmates. They had been tied together without consent, both acquiescing because why fight fate? She would tell herself that he was perfect. That he loved her and that was enough. And maybe it would have been… yet she knew that as long as the low hum of Emma Swan danced in her kitchen she could never settle for just enough.

Henry grins when he sees the dish being placed on the table. Regina laughs and Emma hi fives him because apparently making doey eyes at food is something to celebrate.

“To family,” Henry says carefully, lifting his drink in the air to meet his mother’s.

“To family,” the women chorus and Emma can’t quite meet Regina’s eyes.

They talk about pointless things and it’s beautiful. Henry snorts with laughter at Emma’s stories of a drunken Leroy breaking in to the sheriff’s station whilst Regina masks her snigger within coughs. Regina teases Emma for the time she tried to expose her and utterly failed (followed by a ‘hey, you _were_ an evil queen at this point’) and the blonde retaliates by boasting about her victory destroying the apple tree. There’s no malice to it and Regina finds that she doesn’t mind the term ‘evil queen’ because it got her to _here_ ; this moment.

“Can we watch a Disney movie after this?” Henry blurts out as they’re cleaning up the plates. He is scowling at a very persistent smudge of sauce.

Regina rolls her eyes, “Henry, you know I hate watching them.”

“Which is what makes it so funny,” Emma laughs from the other room and the brunette can practically _see_ the smirk adorning her face. Petty or not, Regina _does_ love to be teased by Emma so she acquiesces and ten minutes later the three of them are seated in the living room the opening credits to Peter Pan on the screen.

“Not quite so amusing now, is it?” Regina hisses at the blonde playfully, attempting to get a rise out of the now scowling woman. It seems that Emma hadn’t been prepared for seeing her boyfriend in all his glory ie waxed perm and moustache.

She sneaks glances at Emma throughout the movie, telling herself that it is to watch the blonde’s annoyance and not the way green eyes reflect the motion of the characters or the furrow of her brow when she’s concentrating. Regina blinks and turns back to the film yet all she can see is Emma Emma _Emma_ and the overwhelming want- need- to grab her hand. And why can’t she? They’re friends right? Is that not what friends do? It’s a persistent itch that she’s too afraid to scratch because they’re not. They’re not just friends. And it’s dizzying to think about what they _are_.

When Henry goes to bed she assumes Emma will head home. But she doesn’t. She’s stilling sitting on the couch when the brunette returns, those same lines creasing her forehead whispering stories Regina will never find out. It strikes her then that the two women have never taken the chance to get to know each other, their dislikes, their likes. They haven’t needed to because the universe has pushed them together, sewn them together in entirely unorthodox ways.

“You’re still here,” she begins awkwardly, wrapping arms around her torso when she’s not even cold.

Emma laughs and Regina hates how her heart soars at it. She swallows and moves to sit on the chair opposite the blonde.

“Shall I go?”

“No.”

There’s a silence before they both speak at the same time, knitting their words together before chuckling nervously. Regina bows her head, urging Emma to go on but the blonde just rolls her eyes.

“Five years we’ve known each other and we’ve only just done _this_.”

Regina muses over the statement, chewing it. Emma’s eyes are filled with a wild intensity; an adventure. And if Regina looks for long enough she fears she may fall in.

“That’s because for the majority of that time I hated you,” she tries to laugh, to slip back in to the comfort of banter but its awkward and hangs in the air.

Emma laughs softly, “I don’t think you _really_ hated me, Regina.”

_No. No, I didn’t. I never did._

“I never hated you,” the blonde continues, Regina watching the fire flicker in the reflection of Emma’s eyes. “I was scared of you, angry then in moments I felt so protective of you.”

“Like when you saved me?”

“Yes. Exactly like when I saved you.”

She feels braver; as if Emma’s stillness can etch away her walls. “I never truly told you what that felt like- to be saved. I’m sorry for not thanking  you enough.”

Emma blinks. “What did it feel like?”

Regina swallows. It’s so earnest, so raw and she knows that she owes it to Emma even if she’s scared of what her heart might reveal.

“It felt like someone opening my eyes.”

Her pulse proliferates under Emma’s gaze. She’s undressing her soul- unmasking things which Regina cannot even admit to herself even though she _knows_. She knows exactly what it felt like in that moment. She knows exactly how she felt because she’s feeling it right now and how she’s felt every day since.

“That’s beautiful,” Emma whispers and Regina can’t do anything but stare at the woman, not even blink, because if only she _knew_.

_It feels like being in love._

* * *

 

She’s walking to work the next morning when she receives a phone call. The voice on the other line is enough to spill her coffee.

“Hi, Regina- it’s Robin.”

“Robin… hello. How can I… help you?” she straightens up, balancing her phone under her ear whilst desperately trying to remove the large coffee stain swelling against her shirt.

“I completely understand if this feel inappropriate and please don’t feel any pressure to say yes but Roland really misses you and-“

“Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just ask me.”

“Right, yes, er- would you mind babysitting Roland for me tonight?”

And it is only after she’s agreed and the time is set (7:00pm) that she regrets doing so. It’s not Roland. He’s sweet and chatty and adores Regina with a ferocity she can never understand- it’s _him_. Robin. There’s this cloying guilt that surrounds her whenever she thinks of the man and it’s not her fault, it was no one’s fault. But it _was_ her fault, wasn’t it? because she gave him hope for a future she was never able to commit too. Not fully.

Emma had left shortly after their conversation last night. It was Killian again, moaning about his loneliness, demanding the blonde’s presence. The only perk had been that Emma seemed agitated, her lips a thin line as she walked out the door; a lasting promise of ‘ _I’ll be over again to discuss birthday plans’_ sending Regina to sleep that night.

Sighing, she heaves folders on to her desk, almost missing the little yellow card the flutters out from beneath the papers. She recognises the pattern immediately. It’s from a stationery set she had bought Henry years ago. What she isn’t expecting is the harsh scrawl of Emma’s handwriting asking the brunette to dinner at 5:00pm. And this time she doesn’t even try to resist her smile.

Not watching the clock (definitely watching the clock), Regina begins to pack up around 4:25, a childish eagerness fuelling her movements. It’s ridiculous and a feeling she hasn’t experienced since Daniel. She arrives at Granny’s a little early and mulls her time in the lavatory, reapplying lipstick and frowning at the bags under her eyes. After 10 minutes the brunette takes a seat in one of the booths, mindlessly scrolling through opened emails. And she’s not nervous, just hungry.

Emma arrives in a whirlwind and Regina has to remind the blonde to breathe. She’s sparkling, visibly sparkling. _Damn you, Emma Swan._

“Come with me! I’ve got sandwiches in my bag you just _have_ to come.”

Regina doesn’t hesitate. Emma could tell her to jump off a cliff and if the blonde’s eyes looked like they do in this moment, she’d probably do it. They walk down Main Street with an infectious urgency, Regina hopelessly asking the blonde where on earth they’re going and Emma merely responding in laughter. It is only when she can smell sea salt that she realises where they are.

“Henry’s old castle,” she breathes, “Well, what’s left of it.”

Emma grabs her hand then. They’re gloved- Emma in white, Regina in black but she still shivers. Fingers curl in to each other and for a single glorious second they’re a jigsaw. And then she remembers Hook and Emma and true love and loosens her grip.

“Come on,” the blonde grins, dragging Regina towards the ocean (expect she doesn’t have to drag her, does she? Regina knows that she’d follow that blessed woman anywhere).

They stop on a little mound of earth. Emma releases her hold on the other woman’s hand and Regina curls her fingers in to each other. She turns and watches as Emma closes her eyes, mystified. The blonde’s palms are open, a quiet determination in the flicker of her eyelids. And when she opens them they’re glittering. Emma tips her head back and laughs not at the night but in to it because in that moment she is nothing less.

Regina is too enraptured by Emma’s eyes to notice the sparks emitting from white gloved hands. “Look,” Emma grins, allowing the magic to dance around her head darting in and out of reach like the waves of the ocean. Regina takes a step away, watching in awe at both the display and the woman whose eyes are a burning galaxy.

“They’re like fireworks,” she breathes and Emma nods ecstatically and lifts her hands in to the air. Regina holds her breath. And then the sparks die out.

“Shit,” Emma curses, pulling her shoe through sand in frustration. “I really thought I was going to be able to do it.”

“Do what, Emma?” the brunette asks carefully noticing how suddenly the magic can drain from Emma’s eyes. She looks exhausted.

“Henry loves fireworks. He says they’re magical; he used to tell me so back in New York. I know it wasn’t real- they weren’t our memories but that- _that_ felt real.”

Regina nods, “I understand. So you were trying to create your own?”

The blonde sighs and looks out at the ocean, “Yeah, something like that. For his birthday- to make it special.”

And Regina refuses to let the spark die out. Not for her son, not for Emma.

“How about we try together?”

Emma blinks at her, “Are we strong enough?”

This time Regina laughs, happily, because she is. “When have ever not been strong enough?”


	3. Chapter 3

She arrives at Robin’s with rumpled hair and the lingering taste of adventure on her lips. He looks weary when he sees her; any light that used to inflate when they met died as soon as Regina began to push him away.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says carefully, watching the way his brow sharpens in the low light. He’s sitting on the arm chair with a book dripping off his fingers. And it’s as if she never left.

Robin sighs, “You can go home if you want, Regina.”

 “I thought I was baby-sitting?”

He manages a meek smile, forever the gentleman, “I missed the boat leaving.” He says it as if it isn’t her fault and it’s angering because he’s too good, too _nice_ and she deserves to be chastised.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. Hands find his awkwardly. They’re strong and warm and entirely unlike Emma’s gloved touch and she can’t decide whether she’s relieved or disappointed.

“Where have you been?” the man asks, running his thumb over Regina’s hand before releasing his grip hurriedly. Exposed. And it’s a question that anchors deeper than just tonight.

 “With Emma” and Regina can’t help the small smile when she says her name. Robin catches it, she’s sure, and sighs burying his hands in his hair.

“Ahh I knew it.” He sounds empty and it’s painful to hear. She digs her nails in to her palms, hating that she means so much to him still after all this time.

“Knew what?”

“You forget, we were soulmates,” he smiles warmly, finding her eyes in his. But their story doesn’t fit anymore and all she sees is her reflection.

“Don’t say that,” she whispers.

“Why?”

He’s challenging her and she deserves it. Robin had always made a habit of questioning the evil queen. She had found it endearing back in the Enchanted Forest… (Though now she thinks that maybe he was just filling a void left by the impossible harmony that is Emma Swan).

“Because it makes me feel guilty,” she admits to him but it feels a lot more like admitting it to herself.

There’s stillness before he speaks. They count the seconds that feel like miles between their voices, cringing at the deafening silence.

“Do you love her?”

Regina blinks.

“No.”

But there’s little fight and she says it like a yes.

Robin nods and turns his gaze to the window, something that doesn’t lie or deceive or abandon. “If there had been no Emma, would we still be together?”

There’s no malice. He just wants the truth. She closes her eyes and begins to imagine a world without _her_. It’s dizzying.

She blinks again.

“Yes.”

The man shakes his head, chuckling softly although nothing is funny and they both know it. “It was too good; you were too good for me.”

Regina snorts, “ _I_ was too good for you?”

“Yes,” he says simply, “You were perfect.”

And she wants to scream.

Robin sighs. “How long have you known?”

She frowns, attempting to hide something that she shouldn’t need hiding because it _shouldn’t_ even be there. Robin’s soft (hurt) eyes blink back at her and she just _knows_ that her face betrays her.

“Stop harming yourself, Regina.”

And he cares so damn much. And all she can give him is the truth.

“Since forever. I would always push it away- ”

It’s liberating to say it…yet stifling when she remembers _everything_ and Hook and how _forever_ is a curse she never intended to cast.

_Love is weakness, Regina._

“- then you came along and it changed.”

Robin looks as though he’s always known. No surprise, just defeat marring his brow.

“Did you love me?” It’s timid and they’re both afraid of the answer.

“I… cared about you deeply. I don’t think we ever had the chance to grow in to love,” she says carefully, honestly because right now it is all she has left.

Robin blinks.

“It was when she saved me, when she became the dark one and I just knew that I would do anything to get her back that I realised she was _more_.” She gasps at her words.

There’s a pause and then she asks the question eating inside of her, a parasite that continues to gnaw at her guilt.

“But we didn’t end it for Emma, did we?”

Robin drops his gaze, “I don’t know… I would have waited.”

And Regina feels sick.

They sit in unhappy silence for several minutes. Regina wishing time would speed up, Robin willing it to slow down.

“But she’s with Hook?” he says aloud.

“I know.”

And it’s so painful that she walks out the room.

* * *

 

She calls Emma as soon as she’s out the cabin. She needs air and gravity and phones the one person that can give her both.

“Regina, are you okay?”

There’s concern woven in to the question and the brunette grabs on to it. Her lifeline.

“Yes.”

But it’s cracked and broken and fragile against the wind.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Where are you?”

_Trapped._

“I can be home.”

“I’ll meet you there,” is the reply and Regina’s heart flutters in longing and betrayal.

_Weak._

She poofs herself home in a blink, purple magic dusting her shoulders as she sinks in to the couch. Emma is coming and she _should_ move, reapply makeup, flatten her hair but what’s the point?

_“But she’s with Hook?”_

_“I know.”_

“Regina?” there’s a rasping on the door. She swallows and crosses the hallway, breathing one two three, before opening and attempting to smile at Emma but most definitely failing. The blonde is in pyjamas, complete with fluffy slippers adorning her feet and Regina wants to wrinkle her nose in disgust and collapse in to her all at once because it’s _Emma_.

“What no comment about my attire? Wow, you _are_ upset.” It’s a joke that falls to the ground and Regina starts to cry, silently, because that’s what a queen does.

Emma barely hesitates before wiping the tears, catching each droplet on her finger tip. Warm. So very warm.

“Oh Regina,” she breathes.

The hug that follows is messy and careless; limbs entangled and tear tracks staining blonde hair, elbows and cold hands that search for warmth amongst the layers of _feeling_ between them. And Regina hugs harder.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Emma is saying and Regina is nodding because she can’t _think_. Not when they’re so entwined that she can’t tell where she ends and the other woman begins. And this isn’t weakness, this is strength.

Or is it both?

She stiffens suddenly, afraid. She’s broken her walls, let the world touch the interior and it hurts… it hurts so fucking much. Because love is pain, isn’t it? It’s painful to watch _her_ , to feel her, the adventure, and to know that it will never be more than what it _is_ to Emma.

She remembers a moment by a well. Pleading. Begging. And hearing only silence in return. She had vowed to never feel that weakness again yet here she is, crying, enveloping a woman who will never be hers.

Regina lets go.

She hardens, examining Emma, attempting to find fault in those eyes. The green is too bright, her story too complex and she aches to know more.

_That’s the thing about true love dearie; it can slip through your fingers._

She blinks back her tears, shaking her head, smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“No… it was a privilege,” Emma whispers it, like a song and Regina wants to push her, yell at her, at the world because she’s never felt more confused.

_Power._

“You keep so much inside, Regina. It’s beautiful to watch,” she softens, touching the brunette’s fingers, “You’re beautiful.”

Regina snaps back, burned. “You don’t mean that.”

And Emma doesn’t saying anything. Her eyes dance but no words, just silence. She takes a step back, in to her safety net.

“Goodbye, Regina.”

* * *

 

They’re not avoiding each other. They’re just busy. Regina’s the mayor, Emma’s the Sheriff. Nothing has shifted between them (nothing that Emma is aware of). They’re just _friends-_ something which Regina is just going to have to accept.

It still doesn’t stop her heart from jumping when she sees her, though. Henry grins at his blonde mother; scooting out of the booth he’s sharing with Regina to engulf Emma in a (very unteenage-like) hug. Emma stumbles and the brunette resists the urge to flick her wrist because watching anyone fall over is amusing in its own right (especially if it’s the Sheriff).

Oblivious to the tension (that is definitely _not_ tension), ballooning between his two mothers, Henry drags Emma over to the booth in an excited babble of _Mom actually let me have chips and a milkshake today_. Regina eyes the other woman carefully and Emma returns with the same nervous nod of the head, neither of their eyes meeting. Henry sighs and mumbles something about needing the toilet, leaving his mothers in an awkward and strained mess.

Emma speaks first: “There’s some weird magic going on at the moment.”

Regina blinks, “Right.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, “I just thought you might be interested because you’re the _Mayor_.” It’s sarcastic and Regina knows the blonde is hurting. _Why,_ however, is an entirely different story.

“Are you going to investigate?”

Emma huffs. It’s amusing to watch, Regina slipping happily back in to her position of power over the blonde.

“I want you to come with me,” she admits finally through a mumble.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

And they angrily sneak glances at one another under Henry’s chatter.

* * *

 

She receives a curt text later that afternoon.  The address and time.

It has been barely a week since Regina’s break down- its marvelling how their relationship fluctuates. She would, of course, still drop everything for the blonde in a heartbeat. They walk in silence through the woods, stopping occasionally to light the odd fireball. It’s infuriating and Regina gives in after a little while, determined to hear _something_ from the other woman.

“How’s Hook?”

“Gosh, Regina he’s _fine_!” Emma growls curses at the mud clinging to her boots, the sunlight lighting her hair on fire.

“I’m sorry,” she snaps back, narrowing her eyes at the anger shaking in Emma’s lips.

“How’s Robin?”

The brunette stills, pivoting angrily. “What?”

“You heard me. How’s Robin?” Green eyes are sparkling once again but this time it’s not enchanting; it’s unnerving.

“Emma, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at.”

“Well I could say the exact same about _you_! You call me up after seeing the man; you cry your eyes out- which may I add, I have _never_ seen you do- we hug and then what… nothing? We just pretend it didn’t happen?”

She’s seething, pinning Regina with an unmatched intensity.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to me!”

Emma slumps against the tree, massaging her temples in exasperation. “I’m… I’m so confused,” she says eventually.  Admittance.

Regina doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. Sliding against the tree next to the other woman, their shoulders grazing, is enough.

“Everything feels so confusing. Hook. You. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

And she _doesn’t_ stop breathing. And her heart _doesn’t_ double in pace because it’s nothing, it’s not her… right?

“What’s changed?” she prods, gently, because Emma is both fragility and fire.

Emma swallows. “Sometimes- no every time- I’m with you I want to…I…” she shakes her head, laughing softly, “We’re a mess, aren’t we? We’ve always been a mess.”

_A beautiful mess._

“Yes,” Regina says instead. And it’s true. It’s all so messy.

“When I’m with you I feel complete, I guess. It’s so simple yet it feels so complicated. You _get_ me, you’ve always got me.”

And Regina has forgotten how to breathe.

“I was glad when you broke up with Robin,” she pauses and tilts her head, capturing the brunette’s eyes, “How selfish is that?”

This is dangerous. Her heart is screaming and _Emma_.

“ _Quite_ selfish,” Regina says softly and doesn’t move away.

“And that’s what is so messed up. I think I know what I want and then… “

“Stop,” she says it with stability despite the earthquake within. It’s painful to stop _her,_ to stop when they’re so close and so exposed and Emma is Emma. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“But what if I do?”

And she’s so close. So damn close. A breath away. A breath away from ruining _everything_. Emma isn’t like Regina, she doesn’t toy over feelings for months (years). She’s impulsive. She doesn’t know what she wants.

She doesn’t.

_But what if she does?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Writers block is real guys. I hope this makes up for it. I do recommend re-reading the previous three chapters to get in to Regina’s ‘mind set’ as it were. Thank you for sticking with me :)

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. It’s settling. They walk Henry to school like he’s five years old again and share nervous chuckles at their son’s reaction. He ducks his head when a group of girls walk past and they both glance over his hair. Just a glance. Nothing more because it can never be anything more, can it?

The previous night remains unmentioned; threaded in the air above them but unmentioned all the same.

_But what if she does?_

Regina has been haunted by ‘what ifs’ her whole life. And it has always seemed far more bearable to bury them. She is done analysing. Emma isn’t anyone’s but if she was she certainly wouldn’t be hers. Friendship. That’s all she’s ever wanted, all she’s ever needed.

So then why whenever she closes her eyes she feels woodland, bark and Emma, Emma, _Emma_.

_You’re beautiful._

She waves goodbye to Henry, gently pressing a kiss to his soft forehead.

_I don’t even know what I want anymore._

She watches as Emma snakes a hand through his hair, unpicking the strands like sewing.

_When I’m with you I feel complete._

And then it’s just the two of them.

_But what if I do?_

“Emma.”

It’s meant to be a question yet it falls like a statement and weighs heavily on the already heavy air between them- around them.

Because what if she hadn’t moved. What if their shoulders hadn’t lost touch and everything blossoming too quickly, far too quickly, hadn’t dissipated in to Regina’s fluster and Emma’s frowning lips.

“It’s fine,” is the deflated smile that emerges from the other woman and splinters inside Regina.

* * *

 

The Charming’s invite her over for dinner. She’s more than convinced that it was Henry’s invite, sensing that his mothers are just a little less than friendly (and a lot less than what they were sitting in her living room, the threat of unspoken stories whispering between them like it always is- between them). Was she happy then, lacing gloved fingers just a little too tightly for ‘friends’, painting the sky with fireworks that were never _just_ for her son- their son?

She pushes it all out of her head and knocks on the door.

“Regina…” Hook (politely) swallows most of the malice with a smile yet it’s broken and hangs more like a grimace.

“Lovely to see you too, pirate,” she snaps because it’s his fault. It’s _all_ his fault, isn’t it?

He opens the door a little wider and she slips through. The pirate and the queen. The winner and the loser.

There are smiles and terse greetings as Snow and David offer to take her coat, pour her some wine (much of it, please), envelope them in to a family she will never fully be a part of and yet all she can do is find those sharp green eyes above _everything_.

“Hi.”

“Emma, I see you’re still trying to feed our son artery clogging foods?” She emphasises our son and Hook looks up sharply.

“Just because you can’t understand the beauty of a grilled cheese, doesn’t mean Henry can’t.”

And they slip back in to _this_ like breathing.

“Henry won’t be able to appreciate this supposed beauty for much longer if you carry on like this.”

Said boy rolls his eyes but Emma laughs and Regina forgets _friends_ all over again. She pulls the chair out beside the blonde and sits on it carefully, like she has to do everything around the infuriating blonde. It’s scary how aware of her skin she is when Emma is next to her. She straightens and tugs on the folds of her blouse feeling too tight, too formal and too much.

Hook moves towards the three and places his one hand on Emma’s shoulder. Protectively.

“I for one, love grilled cheese,” he says.

And Emma’s smile in return is too tight, too formal and not enough.

“Dinner,” Snow sings as if the sudden influx of plates and bowls don’t announce themselves.

Regina picks up salad leaves politely and refuses the potatoes when offered.

“You hardly have to watch your weight,” Emma says nonchalantly, dropping three roast potatoes on the brunette’s plate anyway and Regina definitely _doesn’t_ over-analyse that sentence.

Emma leads the majority of conversation and of course Hook hangs on to every last word finishing it off with an “I” or a “mate” (and he really does over do the English- pirate thing, doesn’t he?)

Regina smirks when Emma tells him to shut up.

They are in the midst of yet another drunken Leroy story when there’s a knock and Snow announces _that’ll be our last guest_.

Robin looks tired as he steps through the door; the crinkles in his eyes dimmer- looking more like paper cuts than smile lines. And Regina can’t help but feel guilty about it. She doesn’t want him here. She doesn’t want him _anywhere_ but definitely not here when he _knows_ and loving Emma isn’t always easy to hide.

“Robin?” Emma smiles heavily. She glances at Regina with something that resembles concern? She may not know that Robin was the trigger for Regina’s break down the other night but she does know that he unnerves her, and that’s enough.

“Hello Emma. Snow, David, Killian, Henry,” he pauses, “Regina.”

Snow laughs at nothing and moves so that he is sitting next on her left, David on her right. There’s an agonising moment where no one speaks before Hook clears his throat and provides a toast to _friendship_ and Emma looks at Regina far too intently.

She’s aware of Robin as conversation flitters from Henry, to Emma, to Killian, to Enchantments, to Gold to curses (Regina’s most uncomfortable topic). She questions every movement she makes. _Is this obvious?_ And the words _to friendship_ ring so loudly in her ears that she prays Robin can hear it too.

“Regina?”

She falters.

“Mom, you were day dreaming. Ma asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles shyly (Regina Mills never mumbles) and drags her gaze to meet green.

“I said what would you think of a wedding?”

Shit.

“Who’s wedding?”

And everyone laughs. Except Robin whose eyes are burning. And… and Emma.

“You really haven’t been paying attention have you?” Henry mock scolds because he can get away with it here, surrounded by _family_.

The laughter is too loud and she winces.

“Killian and Emma’s, of course,” Snow chuckles.

“No.”

_Shit._

“I mean --- weddings are a little… dated?” She’s drowning, it’s obvious- it’s all too bloody obvious- and Robin is laughing at her, they’re all laughing at her.

“I agree,” Emma surprises everyone. “You’re all literally story book characters already so why play by the book even more?” Her cheeks are hot, her eyes dark. It’s intoxicating.

“She has a point,” Robin murmurs, his gaze still pinned on Regina.

“But you’d look so beautiful,” Snow is saying, dreaming about fairy tales as if she’s forgotten the hell the Enchanted Forest (and Regina) inflicted upon her kingdom.

“She can look beautiful any day,” it comes out so wrong, all wrong, and she’s exposed. She tries to cover it up with a _why does it have to be a wedding day_ but it proves utterly pointless under the swimming gaze of Emma Swan. Unblinking.

Her admission diffuses under more chatter and Regina excuses herself carefully, wanting to escape Robin’s pitying look that still somehow holds a hint of longing.

She finds disappearance on the balcony only realising too late that this is Emma’s room and Emma’s balcony and Emma’s possession is not hers.

“Regina? Are you up here?” It’s soft and tired. They’re both so tired.

She doesn’t turn around because green and blonde are dangerous colours and an even deadlier combination.

“I hate dinner parties. They’re quite possibly _the_ most tortuous invention man has ever made.”

Regina wants to stay _stop, stop making me laugh when I can’t_ but that would be like asking Emma to stop being Emma.

“Agreed.”

“I’m sorry about the wedding stuff. I know it must be horrible to hear… My mum is kind of insensitive about the whole marriage thing. To Leopold.”

The wince will never not come when she hears his name but Emma manages to dull the memories.

“She was a child. She wouldn’t understand that love doesn’t work like that,” Regina sighs, tracing shapes with her forefinger over the railing.  

“How does love work?”  

And Regina stills.

“What are you doing Emma?”

“I’ve told you before. I don’t know.”

“Then stop.” She spins around then. “Stop because it hurts. You have no idea how much it hurts.”

“I’m confused…”

“I know you’re confused! You’ve told me already, remember? When you said you didn’t know what you wanted anymore… that you feel… complete when you’re with me,” she spits it out, angry, hurt and so full of something that is stronger than everything. “You asked how does love work but you know, Emma, you know how it works!”

_But what if I do?_

Emma blinks. “Regina… what are you saying?”

_I’m saying that I love you. I’m saying that you’re impossible, irritating, an idiot and yet I love you more than I think I can. I’m saying that I die a little when you smile at him, laugh at his texts, believe that he’s worthy of you. I’m saying that whenever I’m with you I want to hold your hand, hear your laugh, and hug our son- together. I’m saying that I would have you over for dinner every single night if I could._

“I’m saying that you should marry Hook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always encouraged. The angst is real.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are encouraged.


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